


(all things considered) could be worse

by readythefanons



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, I guess we've hit the point where i can mark this as slow burn, Slow Burn, homeless matt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 16,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4773614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readythefanons/pseuds/readythefanons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt: Foggy forgets to lock the doors at the office one night and when he gets there the next morning he finds a blind homeless guy curled up in the corner.</p><p>Foggy is a lawyer with his own practice. Matt's an ex-law student and vigilante.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Hello, I’m Foggy. What’s your name?” Foggy asks. It is, admittedly, not necessarily the best opening line, but it’s certainly not the worse. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good morning, sunshine

“Hello, I’m Foggy. What’s your name?” Foggy asks. It is, admittedly, not necessarily the best opening line, but it’s certainly not the worse. The man jerks into wakefulness and immediately lunges to his feet, looking for all the world like a cornered alley cat. 

“I’m—Matt,” the guy says. “I’m sorry about this. Please, I’ll just be—I’ll just go.” He bends down and starts groping for the backpack by his feet, and Foggy realizes that the sunglasses the man’s wearing might not just be a fashion statement. Amazing. Foggy forgets to lock his office door one time and a blind, homeless man crashes in it overnight. Not that Foggy’s got any valuable property here. Most of his furniture came to him courtesy of bulky item pickup day, and the rest was bought at a flea market. Still, it’s probably nicer than sleeping in the streets. It’s dry and relatively warm and probably quieter and safer to boot, and oh goddamnit. 

“Sure thing,” Foggy’s mouth says for him as he steps aside so he won’t be blocking Matt’s path to the door. “You want some coffee first though?” Stupid fucking mouth. Marci was right, he is a disaster. Matt pauses in the act of shoving what looks like a sleeping bag back into what looks like one of those crappy drawstring backpacks people put their gym clothes in. He’s got bruising on his cheek and probably a black eye under the glasses. Looks like somebody kicked the shit out of him. 

“Pardon?” the man says warily. 

“You know, coffee. The black ichor that makes up this city’s lifeblood? I was just going to make a pot. Since I woke you up,” Foggy babbles. Since Foggy woke him up? This is Foggy’s office. “I don’t think I have any tea, but I can check. I probably should have some anyway for the day I get a teetotaler of a client. I wonder what kind I should get.” Foggy’s mouth needs to just. Stop. 

Matt saves him from speaking any more. “Since you—yeah,” Matt says. “Coffee would be. Thanks.” He looks at least as bewildered as Foggy feels, so at least they match. 

“Great,” Foggy says, sounding manic. “I’ll just—do that.” He spins on his heel and walks over to the coffee machine. His office doesn’t have a bathroom or sink so he grabs the pot and waves it awkwardly at Matt (the blind man who can’t see him doing it, great job Foggy). “Gonna go get some water from down the hall, then,” he says. He makes a beeline for the bathroom down the hall. 

He half-expected Matt to be gone by the time he gets back, but instead Matt’s standing awkwardly by Foggy’s desk, his backpack slung onto one shoulder and the pack with his sleeping bag at his feet. He’s produced a cane from somewhere and is fiddling with it nervously. Matt smiles tentatively when he hears the door open. It’s—it’s kind of breaking Foggy’s heart in ways he doesn’t want to think about. Marci must never know of this day’s events.

“I’m surprised you didn’t call the cops,” Matt says. He sounds like he’s not sure if he’s making a joke or just trying to figure Foggy out. Foggy wishes him luck if it’s the latter. Foggy doesn’t even understand what he’s doing most days.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bolt,” Foggy says. Good job, mouth! Keep it up. Foggy can’t really boot up his brain-to-mouth filter without coffee. He’s about to start apologizing when Matt laughs, a sharp bark that sounds like it was surprised out of him. 

“Well this isn’t how I expected to start my day,” Matt says. Me too, thinks Foggy. His heart does a little pitter-patter when he sees Matt’s smile; it’s that gorgeous. Great, now Foggy feels creepy. He really shouldn’t be checking out the blind, homeless stranger who apparently slept in his office last night.

“How strong do you like it?” Foggy asks, gesturing to the coffee pot. “Uh, I just waved at the coffee pot,” he adds. Matt smiles again, softer and surprised. _Pitter patter_ goes Foggy’s heart. Shut up, heart. Just circulate blood and stop offering commentary.

“How strong can you make it?” he asks. Foggy chuckles.

“Depends on whether you care how it tastes,” Foggy tells him. “Despite being a partner in a prestigious law firm, I cheaped out and got the always-on-sale stuff.” Matt raises an eyebrow uncertainly. 

“Law firm?” he asks. 

“You, my friend, are standing in the palatial offices of Franklin Nelson, Attorney at Law.” Foggy sweeps an arm in front of him to encompass the one-and-a-half rooms he calls his office. “I just gestured grandly.” 

Matt shakes his head, but he’s smiling faintly. “Yes, I’m very impressed,” he deadpans. “I may swoon.” 

“Ha! See if I offer you creamer for your coffee,” Foggy says. “Oh, right, so how strong do you want it?”

Matt makes a face. “Strong as you take it, I guess,” he says.

“Then you take it on the edge of tar-like, excellent choice, sir,” Foggy tells him. He fiddles with the coffee machine. “There we go.”

“So you’re a lawyer with your own firm?” Matt asks. He’s still got his backpack on, but his posture is much more relaxed than it was before.

“Yes I am,” says Foggy. “I’m living the dream.” Well, a version of the dream. Sure, he was apparently sleep-deprived enough that he forgot to lock the office door, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to pay rent on this place if he didn’t get another client soon, and the only time he really saw anyone outside of his job was when he was mooching food off his family, but still. Better than watching Marci burn away any vestige of humanity she had at Landman and Zack while wondering what transformation he was undergoing without even realizing it. He was sure about that much.

“Huh,” Matt says. “I was a law student once,” and he just stops. He looks shocked and more than a little rattled by what he’s just said, and Foggy can’t really say he blames him. Still, Foggy’s a cool cucumber. 

“Really?” Foggy says, inviting without demanding more. That’s what he’s going for at least. Matt nods and swallows.

“Yeah,” he says. “I—Columbia, actually. Hard to believe, I know.” He gestures to himself and gives the world’s most shitty, self-deprecating smile. “It didn’t work out.” 

“I went to Columbia, too,” Foggy says. He tries to keep his voice cheerful, and he’s pretty sure he succeeded. He’s not sure he believes Matt, but he’s also not sure how much that matters in the grand scheme of things. “We could’ve been classmates.”

“Hah, maybe,” Matt says quietly. There doesn’t seem to be much to say after that, but the coffee maker saves them from floundering too much by finishing the coffee.

“Coffee!” Foggy says. He grabs his mug and one of the spares he keeps for clients and pours them each a cup. “Do you want creamer stuff? No milk, but I also have plain sugar.” 

“Just sugar, thanks,” Matt says. There’s an awkward moment where Foggy isn’t sure whether to doctor Matt’s coffee for him or pass it and the sugar bowl, but they make it through. They drink their coffee in a silence that’s not as awkward as it could have been, all things considered. 

“Thanks,” Matt says after they’re done. “This was really—nice.” He looks supremely uncomfortable and Foggy would be a liar if he said he wasn’t feeling it himself. 

“You’re welcome, man,” Foggy says lamely. “This was a surprisingly nice start to my day. I have plenty of coffee, so drop by any morning I’m here.” He means it, which is already not as weird as he thinks it should be.

“Ha, thanks,” Matt says. He shrugs into his backpack, swings the bag with his sleeping bag over his shoulder, and grabs his cane from where it was leaning against the desk. When he’s at the door, Foggy speaks again.

“I mean it,” Foggy says. Matt pauses, cocks his head like he can’t figure out what he’s hearing. Foggy sees Matt’s cheek curve when smiles. 

“Thanks,” Matt says again. This time it sounds like he means it. “Have a good day, Foggy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to the original prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=6330014#cmt6330014  
> 


	2. Can't stay away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt comes back.

Matt doesn’t really think any more about the (charming, kind, awkward) strange lawyer he met. He really doesn’t.

Except that somehow he finds himself in the general vicinity of the building that houses the office of Franklin Nelson, Attorney at Law, on a regular enough basis that he’s more or less familiar with every aspect of Foggy’s routine. And he can tell if Foggy’s in a good mood or a bad one by whether he hums to himself, and can even make an educated guess as to why based on song choice. And he maybe kind of knows where Foggy lives. (And that Foggy keeps terrible hours and doesn’t eat well. It’s terrible how he’s treating himself, and yes Matt is aware of the irony. His ribs are broken more often than not, but he’s a homeless-by-choice vigilante, okay? Foggy’s a lawyer.)

But it doesn’t matter how much time Matt’s been spending in the general vicinity of Franklin “Foggy” Nelson. He has no intention to go back for shitty coffee and the surprisingly good companionship.

And then one morning, Foggy trudges into work. _Trudges,_ mind, every step dragging slightly. And he gets into the office and instead of the quiet _tak_ of Foggy putting down his briefcase followed by the sounds associated with making coffee and maybe some humming there’s the sound of fabric on wood a dull _thud._ Matt frowns. He’s pretty sure Foggy just slumped against the door and then tilted his head back against it. Then a sigh, and another sigh, and then a muffled “fuck.” Matt listens with increasing horror as Foggy’s breathing gets raggedy. 

Foggy gets to the verge of tears before shakily backing away from the edge. Foggy’s calmed down to the point of too-deep breaths and the occasional curse word when Matt realizes that he’s… somehow in the hallway outside Foggy’s office?

Matt’s in the middle of panicking when the door opens and Foggy freezes on the threshold. There’s an exquisite pause.

“Matt!” Foggy sounds… way more cheerful than Matt expected him to sound at all today, much less over Matt.

“Um, hi, Foggy,” Matt manages. He dredges up a smile and hopes it looks okay. (Claire has described his smiles as “trainwrecks” on occasion. He used to be charming, but nowadays he spends most of his nights being as intimidating as possible. He’s out of practice at charming.) “Uh. Coffee?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, man, come in. Drop your stuff off in the corner.” Foggy steps aside to let Matt through. 

“Thanks.” Matt does as directed and then fidgets. 

“I haven’t put the coffee on yet,” Foggy says, “But lemme get it going, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Matt offers awkwardly. Although if Foggy doesn’t then this visit is going to astronomically uncomfortable. Also very short. “I could go.”

“Please,” Foggy says dismissively, his footsteps almost up to their usual speed as he goes to collect the coffee pot. “As if I would make it one morning without coffee.” There’s a nearly-inaudible intake of breath, and he says, “Oh, and I have tea! If you want some.”

“Coffee’s good for me, thanks.” 

“Alright, man. Make yourself comfortable.” 

Matt strains to hear any insincerity in Foggy’s voice and fails. Throughout the conversation, Foggy seems genuinely happy to have Matt around. They chat for about fifteen minutes before Foggy says, “I’m sorry, man, but I should really work on some things. I just waved at my briefcase.” 

“Yeah, no problem. Thanks for the coffee,” Matt says. 

“Hey, any time,” Foggy says. _Truth,_ says his heartbeat. Matt smiles. “Glad you dropped by.” _Maybe I’ll do it again,_ Matt thinks but doesn’t say.

“Maybe I’ll do it again.” Why did he say that.

“I look forward to it!”

Matt picks up his bags and leaves. Before he’s even out of the building, he hears Foggy start to hum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaat a new chapter? Yes. Edited or proofread in any way? No. (Expect stealth edits later.) Is there more to come? Yes. Eventually.


	3. Way to a man's heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy has a Super Sneaky Plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I desperately want to come up with a new title for this fic.  
> Anyway, have another chapter: it's basically got no redeeming value :)

Matt keeps coming back, which makes Foggy happier than he’s willing to analyze. Talking law with Matt is electrifying in a way that Foggy has missed since starting his own practice. It’s really useful to have someone to bounce ideas around with. Foggy realizes pretty quickly that Matt is smart as hell. His memory must be incredible. 

“Dude, I should put you on the payroll,” Foggy says to Matt one morning. “I’d have never built such a strong case if it weren’t for you.” Matt pauses where he’s putting his bags down by the door. 

“You have a payroll now?” Matt asks, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s got a split lip again. Foggy worries about how often Matt comes in beat to hell, but today he’s got his Super Sneaky Plan to obsess over.

“Eh, you’re right. I should figure out how to set up a payroll and then put you on it,” Foggy returns easily. “I just gestured expansively by the way. But until then! Let me buy you dinner.” That’s it. That’s the Super Sneaky Plan: get food into Matt Murdock, who in addition to always being injured is skinny verging on gaunt. Matt raises his eyebrows, but the smile remains.

“Why, Mr. Nelson, I didn’t know you swung that way.”

“Ha, as it happens I do,” Foggy says. Surprise and something else—uncertainty?—flashes across Matt’s face and is gone. Foggy kicks himself inwardly. His heart is beating a tattoo inside his chest like it wants to break out and smack him with his own ribs. _Shut up, heart, I know I’m an idiot._ He hurries onwards, “BUT if this were a seduction attempt, I’d be doing a poor job of it. I was thinking takeout Thai. You should hold out for a higher quality of wining and dining.”

“I guess I will,” Matt says, the smile more-or-less back in place. “But in the meantime, it’s hard to say no to Thai.”

“Yes!” Foggy says. “I just fist pumped. It was extremely professional.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“Wait, I know I said dinner, but: Thai now or Thai later? We can stick whatever’s leftover in the mini-fridge and heat it up whenever.”

“Now works. My social calendar’s surprisingly empty at the moment.” 

“You’re a riot. I’ll read you the menu and you can pick, since you’re the man of the hour.” They order Thai, and Foggy deliberately orders too much. It costs more than Foggy would normally spend on himself, but he’s not ordering for just himself and besides Matt really _did_ do an amazing job. 

It’s head and shoulders above most of the meals Foggy’s had recently, and not just because it’s a more balanced meal than the cheap crap he’s been eating. (It’s a good thing Foggy was raised on potatoes, otherwise his diet would be feeling really monotonous by now. As it is, sometimes when he feels like making something special he cooks up spaghetti with olive oil and salt, or red beans and rice. Exotic.) The last time Foggy had such good company was when he went over to his parents’ for dinner, and Matt knows his way around a legal argument. 

Super Sneaky Plan: wildly successful.


	4. Brrr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby, it's cold outside. (Well, it's getting there.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, if you're into that! :)

Foggy’s got something on his mind and it’s completely obvious. (Well, obvious to anyone who can hear and is overly familiar with Foggy’s breathing, pulse, and throat movements. So, obvious to Matt.) Matt puts up with five minutes of Foggy trailing off and “losing his train of thought.” It’s been the better part of a week since he’s seen Foggy (the criminal element of Hell’s Kitchen is getting uppity) and he wants to get whatever’s occupying Foggy cleared up so they can go back to normal. (As normal as their friendship is ever likely to be. It’s certainly a trip to think that Daredevil’s alter ego has a friend.)

“Something on your mind?” Matt asks as neutrally as possible. Foggy inhales sharply, then lets it out in a rush.

“You could say that,” he says. Foggy goes to his desk and fumbles out a small object. He walks over to Matt and says, “I got something for you.” Matt extends his hand.

Matt opens the little paper envelope and removes its contents. Wow, Foggy’s heart is fast as a bird’s, and he doesn’t seem to be breathing at all. Matt turns the object over in his hands.

“Foggy, what is this?” Matt asks eventually. He knows exactly what it is, it just doesn’t make any sense.

“It’s a key, buddy,” Foggy says, too jovial. “A carefully shaped piece of metal that allows its owner to open a lock. In this case, the lock on the office door.” Foggy swallows and adds, “It’s getting cold out there.” 

Matt… honestly doesn’t know what to do with this. 

He could say something about how he doesn’t need taking care of, or doesn’t want charity. (Both true, and both things he’s said before, if not as bluntly. It always sucked because, well, he _doesn’t_ want or need those things, and Foggy, bless him, tries to respect it. But Foggy’s tread is always a little heavier for the next few days. No one else would notice, but Matt does.) 

He could point out that the safe and socially approved response to finding a man squatting in your office is not to offer him a coffee, and certainly not to give him a key. 

He could cut all ties and leave. That’s what he should do. Matt’s already gotten too attached, and Foggy clearly has too. It’s dangerous for Foggy to let this continue. He needs to cut all ties, get away and stay away. 

“Thanks,” Matt says, and takes the key. It’s warm from Foggy’s hand, and it stays warm as Matt slips it into his pocket.


	5. oh, hello there (second meetings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ring ring ring

Foggy’s phone goes off at 1 am. Unrecognized number. He paws at it and hits “answer” on auto-pilot.

“Hrrgh?” he manages. If this is a telemarketer he’s gonna—

“Foggy. It’s Matt.”

It’s Matt. Foggy doesn’t even have time to stare at his phone incredulously before Matt’s launching into an explanation, of sorts. It’s an explanation with as few specifics as possible, but Foggy understands _get to the police station,_ and _possibly life-or-death._ The phrase _I’ll explain later_ comes up too, but Foggy doubts it.

He doesn’t doubt the strain in Matt’s voice, though, so he hauls ass to the police station.

He was expecting to see Matt, and Matt is there. But Matt’s not the one who’s being held. 

“Mr. Nelson, this is Karen Page,” Matt says formally, gesturing at a handcuffed woman with tear-red eyes. “Karen, this is Mr. Nelson, the lawyer I told you about.” Foggy looks at the small crowd in the room: a woman sitting, Matt standing, and a uniformed police officer looming above the woman.

“Ms. Page, hello,” Foggy says. Karen nods, mouth tight. “Matt, can I talk to you outside?”

“I’d rather not leave Ms. Page alone, if it’s all the same to you,” Matt says smoothly. It’s not the time (1:13 am is not the time for much of anything), but Foggy is suddenly struck by what Matt must have been like in law school. “Perhaps we can confer right here?”

“Alright,” Foggy says, drawing out the vowels. “Fine.” He leads Matt into a corner and hisses, “Matt, what are you doing?”

“Ms. Page is being held on suspicion of homicide, but I don’t think she did it,” Matt whispers back. “It looks pretty bad.”

“How bad?”

“She was found in her apartment, kneeling over the body while holding a knife.”

_“Matt!”_

“She’s innocent, Foggy, she’s being set up, but I have no idea why or by whom,” Matt insists. Foggy stares at Matt, baffled, then at Ms. Page, then back at Matt. Karen is watching them with every expectation that Foggy will do the sensible thing and leave. Matt’s face is hard with conviction, and his hands are balled into fists at his side. He’s determined, yeah, but something in the set of his mouth and shoulders is resigned. He’s expecting Foggy to tell him he’s crazy and walk out. 

_“‘Whom?’”_ Foggy eventually repeats. “Busting out the objective pronouns to impress?”

_“Foggy.”_

“Fine, we’ll consider her case,” Foggy says. He leads Matt back to the center of the room and smiles sweetly at the uniformed officer. “Is it really necessary to keep the hundred-and-ten-pound woman handcuffed in a locked room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apropos of nothing: I went looking for mating frogs tonight, but it was cold and I only saw one pair. :\ They were on the end of their breeding period anyway, but with the cold too, pssh
> 
> Matt probably got Foggy's number by snitching one of his business cards and feeling out the letters with his super digits.


	6. cereal for dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt likes Karen, but she’s a troublemaker.

Matt likes Karen, but she’s a troublemaker.

And he’s not just talking about the part where she almost got murdered twice in twelve hours. 

No, as petty as it is, Matt means the way she disrupts his and Foggy’s private little world. Karen’s been unsurprisingly fired from Union Allied, and instead of going hunting for a respectable job and quietly moving on with her life, she’s apparently decided she’s going to stick around and make herself essential to the business of Franklin Nelson, Attorney at Law. 

Foggy barely has enough money to keep the lights on, pay rent on his (shitty) apartment and (slightly less shitty) office, and buy (shitty) food. He has no business _hiring Karen._ (He has no business feeding Matt and offering him a place to sleep.)

But that’s Foggy, Matt supposes: impulsively generous, recklessly kind. If Foggy were any different, Matt supposes that he wouldn’t lo—

No. _No._ Matt’s not even going to think it.

Anyway, Matt likes Karen, but there’s some petty and inexplicable (not so inexplicable) part of him that’s annoyed by how Karen is always in the office, and how the scent of her shampoo and soap mingles with Foggy’s, and how Foggy’s heart speeds up when she smiles and the happiness that rolls off of him when she laughs, and—

_No._

Matt lets himself into Claire’s apartment. She starts at the noise but calms down almost at once when she sees who it is.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she says. She’s sitting at her kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and what smells like a newspaper. “Want dinner?” she shakes the still-open cereal box at him. Matt shakes his head.

“No, thanks.”

“Okay. I’m going to bed in half an hour.”

“Okay.” Matt walks into the kitchen, drops his bags on the floor, and hoists himself up to sit on the counter.”

“Get down from there before I get my water spritzer,” Claire says, making no move to do so. Matt grins.

There’s a lull in conversation, punctuated by the sound of Claire turning back to the front page.

“…I’m not going to ask, you know,” she says eventually.

“Ask what?” Matt asks brightly.

“I’m certainly not going to flutter at you about how I haven’t heard from you in _two weeks_ and ask how you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.” Claire pointedly flips through the paper. “Besides, you’re moving fine, and keeping you from dying is all I signed on for.” Matt hums and nods. “Santiago’s inexplicable fascination with the vigilante known as ‘Daredevil’ means I get regular updates on the comings and goings of Hell’s Kitchen’s very own mask. I figure if he ended up dead in a ditch somewhere, I’d hear about it.” Matt swings his legs back and forth and says nothing. “And anyway there were still the unsubstantiated stories trickling in about how ‘Daredevil’ beat up a would-be rapist, or scared off some abusive boyfriend, or stopped a homeless boy from being stabbed.” Claire sighs. “Santiago’s father is back in town, so I’ve been seeing him a lot.”

Matt cocks his head. “I thought his dad was out of the picture?”

“He’s supposed to be, but every now and then he gets it into his head to come back and impose on Laura and the kids.” She sighs again. “They’ll be fine.” She takes another bite of cereal and changes the subject. “How are you?”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to ask.”

“I’m unpredictable. Go on. You been eating?”

“Yes, Nurse Claire,” Matt murmurs. He tells her, surprising himself by the level of detail he includes. She eats the whole time, vocalizing just enough to let him know she’s following. 

“This Foggy sounds like quite a guy,” is all she says when he’s done. 

Matt grins. “He is.”

She leaves her bowl in the sink and goes to bed. He pulls the blanket off the back of her couch and settles down to sleep. Sleep claims him quickly, dragging at his bones. The last thing he thinks before it takes him entirely is, _Quite a guy indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, shameless plug for the karen-centric fic I have up now, too, ["Karen is not a New Yorker."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6462385) Not set in this 'verse at all! *jazz hands*


	7. You know, places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IN THIS CHAPTER: Karen is great * Foggy likes her * Social awkwardness as a best-case scenario * Ironic lawyers, not being one

Foggy loves Karen, and with excellent reason. 

Admittedly, she manages to make coffee even less palatable than Foggy’s brew (which is saying a lot). Foggy also suspects she’s a magnet for trouble. (Matt secretly thinks Foggy hasn’t noticed, but _seriously._ ) There was the being suspected of murder thing, almost being killed in a jail cell thing, and almost being killed in her apartment thing. That’s not great. But they all stem from an intrepid spirit, which in Foggy’s book makes it all—if not alright, then at least understandable. Foggy quit a respectable job with a reliable paycheck in favor of scraping by and being befriended by a homeless guy. 

And the excellent reason to love Karen is basically her intrepid spirit. The defense wishes to submit to evidence exhibit A: Karen decided to stick around when the Union Allied thing was done and dusted. Karen was personal secretary to a bigwig at a large company. Foggy is completely sure she could get a better job than working for him. But she liked the cut of Foggy’s jib and so she stuck around. Exhibit B: the whole Union Allied and subsequent near-death experiences wouldn’t have happened if Karen wasn’t curious, intelligent, and courageous. 

There is one problem, though. (Okay, there’s more than one, but Foggy’s just one guy with limited resources. He has to pick and choose his battles.) Despite the fact that Foggy thinks there’s great potential for Karen and Matt to get along well, they just don’t. 

It’s kind of inexplicable. Back when Foggy socialized regularly, his ability to tell when people would hit it off was really reliable. With Karen and Matt though… It’s just not working. Karen’s polite and friendly, Matt’s polite and (warily) friendly, and there is zero bonding. Karen and Matt’s non-chemistry isn’t the immediate problem though. 

“Have a good meeting,” Foggy calls as Karen leaves. She smiles wanly and he adds, “If you need a lawyer, I can give you the name of a guy.” A more sincere grin flashes across her face, and he waves until the door clicks shut behind her. Foggy turns in time to catch Matt fidget tensely before forcing his hands still again. 

“Something on your mind?” Matt asks after a beat. Foggy huffs out a not-really-laugh and rolls his eyes.

“Maybe. Are you sticking around?” he asks. Sometimes Matt only shows up in the morning, sometimes he takes off during the middle of the day, sometimes (the best times) he sticks around until around the time Foggy closes up the office. Matt shrugs, face tilted away from Foggy. “Cool,” Foggy says lamely. “Okay then.” A beat.

“Well?” Matt asks.

“Where have you been sleeping?” Foggy asks. Experience has taught him that Matt responds poorly to tiptoeing around the homeless thing. Matt shrugs again, still half-facing away from Foggy. 

“You know, places,” Matt says. “I have been doing this for years, I’ve got my ways.”

“But you were sleeping here regularly,” Foggy says. “Except that you haven’t since we met Karen.” 

“Is that right?” Matt says noncommittally. Foggy pauses, not sure what to do. He had a vague plan of ‘talk to Matt, clear up the Karen and sleeping thing,’ but maybe it’s not his problem to fix.

“Karen doesn’t have a key, Matt,” he says quietly. 

“But you’re going to give her one,” Matt says. “If she’s really part of the firm, she needs to be able to get into the office.” Foggy touches the piece of metal in his pocket. 

“Yeah, but.” Foggy trails off.

“Foggy. Karen needs a key and I have other places to sleep. She’s very—nice, and she has useful skills, and I know you want to—to hire her properly. And she’s been very nice to me, and I don’t want to scare her off or make her uncomfortable more than I already do.” Foggy blinks.

“You don’t make Karen uncomfortable.” 

Matt raises both brows. 

“You don’t,” Foggy insists.

“She sounds different when I’m in the room or outside it,” Matt says. “I put her on edge.” Foggy’s eyes widen and then he huffs out a sigh and rolls his eyes.

“Of course you put her on edge. She puts you on edge. You’re both so concerned about freaking each other out that you freak each other out,” he says, not bothering to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “Jesus. I should make you do trust exercises or some shit.”

The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches. “I’m sure that wouldn’t help.”

“You’d be surprised, buddy,” Foggy says absently. “Even when you know what’s happening, being put into a situation that’s inherently a little awkward by an outside party tends to loosen people up. Does she know you sleep in the office?”

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

“I didn’t tell her.”

“So probably not,” Foggy concludes. “Well, I say you go back to sleeping here—if you want to—and loosen up around Karen. Yeah, she might think it’s a bit weird at first, but soon it’ll just be normal. And if she has a problem with it, well, you have seniority.” Foggy’s heart does a double-beat. _Seriously, just circulate blood._ The words hang in the air and Matt turns his face away again, one shoulder hunching up. He swallows.

“She might realize there’s someone in the office before she comes in and call the cops,” Matt says. “Social awkwardness is the _best case_ scenario.” 

“So tell her beforehand, or I’ll tell her for you,” Foggy says. It’s getting colder. Matt has other places to go, but it’s important to Foggy that he also has this one, and he’ll have it as long as Foggy can make it so. 

The barest trace of a smile graces Matt’s face, there and gone again.

“I’ll think about it,” he says.

Foggy lets it go for now. _Pitter patter_ says Foggy’s heart. He grabs his lunch bag from his desk drawer. “I put mayo in the sandwiches so they will go bad if you don’t eat one,” he announces. “It’s criminal to waste food, and I don’t want to be one of those ironic lawyers who breaks the law. Let’s eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foggy’s sandwich comment is a joke hinging on the word so. The sandwiches will go bad because he put mayo in them, and he also put mayo in them _for that reason._ I’m a riot at parties, trust me.


	8. Freddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude: the chill of winter * how far Having a History can get a man * the unlikely postcard

Matt’s been working in Hell’s Kitchen “full time” since he dropped out of Columbia, and was putting in “part-time work” even during undergrad. He’s familiar with how its criminals operate. But Fisk’s machinations have been like the seasonal shift from autumn to winter—slow enough as to be nearly imperceptible, right up until that first night when you’re freezing in the street and realizing that the preceding chilly nights were a trend, not a series of isolated incidents. For Matt, that first frost night was actually a few months before he met Foggy, but he’d shrugged it off and hunkered down the same way he’d hunched his shoulders against the cold and made a mental note to hunt more avidly for a winter coat. 

Tonight, though, the cold is biting Matt’s nose with every breath, and he realizes that Hell’s Kitchen is well and truly in the grip of Wilson Fisk.

Honestly, he’s lucky (if that’s the word) to even have a name. Just yesterday he was still thinking of the mysterious criminal, for want of a better appellation, as “the kingpin.” No capital letters, but certainly _the._ Fisk was never the only game in town—how could he be?—but he went from a non-entity to someone to watch out for with a rapidity that was worrying.

Matt is standing in an alley with a man whose heartbeat is rabbit-fast. More precisely, Matt is looming over the man as he cowers in terror and—this is the important part— _continues to refuse to give up information about Fisk._

“Do you really think I won’t hurt you, Fred?” Daredevil growls. “Have I been too amiable, and now you think we’re buddies or something?”

“That’s not it, DD!” Fred squeaks. “I believe you, I believe you, I do, b-b-but you don’t _kill_ people, D. Even if you put me in the hospital, you ain’t gonna put me in the ground, n-not on purpose anyway. Fi—the man you asked me about? If I knew anything about him, it’d be that he don’t have a code like you do, see?”

“Not _good_ enough, Fred,” Daredevil growls, taking another step forward and grabbing the back of the man’s collar in one gloved fist. The man whimpers and cringes away as best he can.

“Don’t do it, D! Not your old pal Freddy!” he begs. “You know me, I’m a nobody, you know that. Too-too much of a little streak of nothin to be in with the gangs.” Daredevil eases his grip just enough that he isn’t hauling the little man up by his shirt. He was never going to put the hurt on Fred, but normally he wouldn’t even have to pretend. He and Fred have a history. (Admittedly it’s one based on threats and occasionally pulling each other’s asses out of the fire, but it goes back for years.)

“You might not be in with the gangs, but you know how to keep your ears open, don’t you, Fred?” he growls.

“DD, everyone who ever said anything about—about this guy you’re askin about got dead in a hurry,” Fred says. “And if you don’t know that already, you been hit on the head more’n I thought. If I tell you anything, _anything,_ and he hears about it? I’ll be cold before you make it through the door. Dead men tell no tales, right, D? And, and then, with no more Freddy, who’ll you go to when you need information, huh? Not your old pal Freddy. Don’t do this, D.”

Daredevil sighs and releases Fred’s shirt entirely. He crouches in front of the little man.

“I need something, Fred, just enough to get me started,” he says quietly. Freddy shakes his head and sniffs wetly. “Please, Fred.” Freddy shakes his head harder and staggers to his feet.

“I just toldya, I don’t know nothing,” he says. Then, faster, heartbeat still doing a flat-out sprint, adds, “But if I did, I’d say this guy of yours? Who I know nothing about? Don’t sound like he’s part of a regular gang, not really. He don’t really do anything for himself, doesn’t specialize, more like he just makes deals with the real gangs. Hell’s Kitchen is getting really political, if you get my drift.” Freddy makes for the street. Daredevil doesn’t try to stop him.

“See you around, Fred,” Daredevil calls. Without stopping, Fred shakes his head. 

“Not me, D,” he calls. “I got friends outside the city I ain’t seen in a long time. Me ‘n’ Alice, we’re gonna go visit em. I dunno when we’ll be back. Maybe I’ll send a postcard.” And with that he’s gone. Daredevil stares at where he rounded the corner for a long moment before the screams and sirens of the city rouse him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit different! Expect a more normal chapter soon. I just... wrote this and liked it. (shrug)  
> Also, apparently this is now technically a minor crossover with Black Jack Justice by Decoder Ring Theater.


	9. Hypothetically

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy stares. Matt fidgets. “Hypothetically.”

Matt’s leaning against the door when Foggy arrives at work.

“Please just sleep in the office and don’t make a big deal out of it,” Foggy says tiredly. “If you want to, I mean.”

“D’you ever have someone in your life who seems so constant, so eternal, so unchanging, you never thought about what would happen if they went away?” Foggy stares. Matt fidgets. “Hypothetically.”

Foggy scrubs his hand across his face and says, “Coffee.” He unlocks the door and carelessly drops his satchel on his desk on his way to the coffee maker. “Possibly with a shot,” he mumbles to himself as he fiddles with the coffee maker. “Or maybe just the shot and no coffee.”

“I—I’m sorry. I can go,” Matt says. Foggy turns, and Matt’s already edged halfway out the door.

“No,” Foggy says sternly. He pulls out a chair. “Sit. I’m pointing at a chair.”

“I should just go.”

_“Sit.”_

Matt sits. Foggy pours coffee for Matt and for himself. He refrains from adding a shot to either of their mugs. 

“Go on,” Foggy says. 

“Are you okay?” Matt says instead. Foggy very deliberately does not sigh or make a face. 

“Peachy,” he lies. “Just a little tired. Late night.” 

“Doing what?” asks Matt, the shithead. This time Foggy does roll his eyes.

“Running around Hell’s Kitchen beating the living daylights out of a bunch of thugs,” he says. “You caught me. I’m Daredevil. I dress up in stupid armored pajamas every night and jump off rooftops.” 

“I—what? You—I—um—pajamas?” Matt sputters. 

“You didn’t know? Daredevil wears this, like, body suit thing with little horns poking coming out of the helmet.”

“What?”

“There are blurry newspaper photos and even blurrier ones online,” Foggy says. “But there are definitely horns on the helmet.”

“And he looks—”

“Kinda stupid? Yeah, buddy.” Foggy pauses. Matt’s looking kind of… blotchy. Mostly pale but with bright red spots on his cheeks. Also massively uncomfortable. The penny drops. “Aw, shit, you like him don’t you? Ignore me, ignore me, my other friends are a cop and a lawyer. We’re not into the vigilante thing.” Foggy takes a swig of his coffee. Ugh. That’s the cheap stuff alright.

Matt opens and closes his mouth a few times, then takes a large gulp of his coffee. Wincing at either the flavor or the temperature (from experience, Foggy would bet both), he sets down his mug. 

“So other than backflipping across the city in a costume you apparently hate,” Matt says. “What did you get up to?”

“Just working late, man. We need to wrap up another case soon.” Foggy still has money saved from L&Z, but he’d rather not have to dip into his so-called savings to keep the lights on every month. When it was just Foggy, he was just barely keeping the firm’s expenses and income balanced. With Karen on the payroll, and the money Foggy was shelling out for takeout to feed Matt… Well, Foggy doesn’t like to think about it. And he doesn’t want to talk about it, especially not with Matt. 

Changing the subject with the subtlety of a giraffe in a city park, Foggy asks, “So who did you think was constant as the northern star but turned out not to be?” The corner of Matt’s mouth quirks like he’s thinking of a not-especially-funny joke. Awesome. That was almost certainly a thoughtless, tasteless thing to say. Matt’s unsurprisingly sparing with details about his past, but Foggy figures there’s a tragic backstory there. 

All Matt says is, “I have a friend who’s leaving New York. In the years I’ve known him, he hasn’t left the city for more than a week. But he and his wife are leaving indefinitely.” And then he gives the most tragic _but whatever I’m pretending I don’t care to protect myself or something_ shrug. “I was surprised.” Sweet Jesus. Foggy can’t handle Matt’s fake-okay face this morning.

“Okay, bring it in,” Foggy says, spreading his arms. Matt cocks his head, and Foggy narrates. “I’ve got my arms open waiting for a hug.” It might be better manners to bring to hug to Matt, but then again, maybe not. If he approaches arms-out Matt doesn’t have much chance to dodge out of it. This way Matt can just stay sitting down if he’s not feeling the hug. 

Matt’s mouth drops open, and he looks as young as Foggy’s ever seen him. Foggy wiggles his arms. “I’m serious, get over here.”

Matt gets up with unusual clumsiness, shoving his chair back with the backs of his knees and making an impressive beeline for Foggy. When he gets just in front of Foggy, he hesitates with his arms half out. At this point Foggy feels confident enough that Matt’s DTH (down to hug) that he bridges the gap, wrapping him up in a classic Nelson embrace. (No relation to the wrestling move.)

Matt melts into it, almost instantly sagging against Foggy and letting his head rest on Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy readjusts his hold (hugs are much less soothing if you collapse to the floor) and hangs on. They stand that way for—it can’t be very long, but it’s definitely long by hug standards. The doorknob turns and Matt springs away and brushes a hand through his hair. Karen enters the office, muttering to herself in even tones. She takes in Matt and Foggy’s red faces and proximity to each other, and raises her brows.

“Karen, good morning!” Foggy says with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. Matt is kind of adorable with his face pink like that. Not that Foggy’s looking. He’s just. Noticing. Foggy’s an observant guy like that. “What’s on the schedule for today?”

“Files,” Karen says, her eyes still flicking between Matt and Foggy, “I’m just dropping by to pick up a few files before heading to the hall of records.”

“Ah, the hall of records. Your paper kingdom! Go forth, but hurry back to us before we pine away.” Karen chuffs a laugh, grabs the files she needs, and swings back out the door. Foggy turns back to Matt, who’s leaning against the counter with a forced casualness that’s almost painful to see. “You hanging around today?” Matt shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he says, sounding regretful. “I just wanted to swing by and—say hi.”

“Okay then,” Foggy says. Impulsively, he opens his arms again. “Another for the road?” Matt hesitates, then edges towards Foggy. Two hugs in one morning. 

After Matt scoots out of the office, Foggy refills his mug and settles in for a hard day’s work. His heart is fluttering pleasantly. He tells himself it’s heart palpitations from the coffee.


	10. Possibly bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take a break and cheer me up."
> 
> Karen and Matt bond. Possibly.

“Foggy-bear, last night was a disaster. Take a break and cheer me up,” a woman says as she swings open the door to the office. She pauses, presumably taking in Matt, Karen, and the absence of Foggy. “Hello,” she says, voice becoming precise instead of sing-songy. “I’m Marci Stahl, attorney.” Her heels click sharply against the floor as she walks towards them, hand extended to Karen, who shakes it. Marci’s not wearing perfume, but her hair products are good quality and expensive. Matt’s nose also tells him that she’s wearing full face make-up, and it’s expensive too. Her movements are confident, and although her heartbeat ticked up a fraction when she realized they weren’t who she was expecting, it’s returning to its baseline.

“Karen Page,” Karen says. “Personal assistant. Foggy just stepped out.”

“Karen Page,” Marci repeats, “Foggy told me about you. Says you’re practically slumming it, working for him. And you are?”

“Matt,” Matt says, holding a hand out. Marci’s handshake is firm. “I’m a friend of Foggy’s.” He manages not to stumble or hesitate over the word. 

“ _Well,_ ” Marci says speculatively. Neither Matt nor Karen knows what to say into the brief pause that follows. Marci turns to Karen. “Tell Foggy I dropped by, and that he’d better answer when I call tonight.” And with that, she leaves.

The door swings shut. Karen and Matt sit in stupefied silence. Eventually Karen turns to Matt.

“I do believe we just intercepted a booty call,” she says, her voice tinged with amusement.

“I—what?”

“You don’t think so?”

“No, I, you did?” Matt manages to ask. Karen hums an affirmative.

“ _’Foggy, come cheer me up,’_ ” she says in an exaggeratedly breathy voice. 

“She didn’t sound like that,” Matt says weakly. 

“ _’Tell Foggy he’d better answer when I call,_ ’” Karen replies, voice pitched low and sultry. It’s a more accurate impersonation than the first one.

“Um,” Matt says. Karen laughs under her breath and there’s a shuffling of papers. 

“So I did some digging into the girlfriend and nothing stood out, but I did find something interesting when I looked up the ex,” Karen says, jumping back into the case conversation they’d been having. Matt tries to shift gears, too, but he’s not as successful as Karen. He didn’t think Karen was right about Marci. He’d never smelled anyone else on Foggy, and Foggy never smelled like someone else’s shampoo. Of course, if Foggy went over to Marci’s apartment but spend the night at his own place, Matt wouldn’t necessarily pick up a trace of her.

It occurs to Matt that Karen’s expectant silence has gone on just a smidgen too long.

“…Did you say something?”

“Oh, nothing,” Karen says, in a way that definitely means _something._ “Just that I wonder how Foggy and Marci know each other; she seemed pretty sure of her welcome.”

“Another lawyer?” Matt guesses.

“Oh! Yeah, she said that when she came in,” Karen says. “What do you think: law school together? She was pretty young.” Matt has observed that Karen is easily startled, and when she gets startled she stays jittery for a long time. It’s probably a side-effect of almost being murdered twice in one night. The door swinging open to let Marci in had startled her, but she’s already returned to baseline. Her posture, breathing, and pulse all sound relaxed and comfortable. Matt has no idea why, since everything about this conversation is making _him_ uncomfortable, but he doesn’t really begrudge her.

“Maybe,” he allows. 

“Huh,” Karen says speculatively. There’s a heavy silence. Matt hopes Karen’s got it out of her system, but she doesn’t seem to be paging through her file or browsing her laptop. “Just so you know, that woman was scary hot, emphasis on the scary. Dressed to kill. Generally seemed like the kind of woman who uses people and consumes their dried husks.” Matt’s not sure if he’s more uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation or the distantly approving tone in Karen’s voice. 

“Okay,” he says, when he realizes Karen’s waiting for him to say something.

“ _So,_ ” she says, “She was looking for Foggy, and it seemed like she’s done this before.” There’s another expectant silence. 

“Okay?” Matt says. Karen snorts and shuffles her papers.

“Okay, we can speculate about our boss’s sex life later,” she says. “The PA code of professional conduct recommends waiting until at least six pay periods have passed.” They’re talking precedent when Foggy returns with a spring in his step and a bag of take-away Greek food in his arms. 

“What’d I miss?” he asks. Matt can _hear_ the muscles in Karen’s cheeks when she smiles, and even if he couldn’t he’d recognize the rekindled mirth in her voice.

“You had a vis-it-or,” she tells Foggy, drawing out the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone did a second fill on the prompt that started this story! All sorts of cool things happen when I drop off the face of the Earth for several months! http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=17123742#cmt17123742


	11. Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marci sighs and flags down the waiter. "Please bring me a mimosa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chip chip chipping away at this thing.

Okay, so Marci dropping by the office was kind of embarrassing. Fine. Foggy is kind of tempted to skip out on their next brunch date, but all that would do is make the eventual mockery twice as bad. Besides, twice-monthly brunch with Marci means two meals he doesn’t have to pay for in a restaurant he couldn’t afford on his current budget. 

“You did tell me about the secretary, but I’m starting to think you glossed over some of the details,” Marci says. Foggy shrugs. Marci might see right through him, but that doesn’t mean he has to roll over for her right away.

“About what?” he asks.

“’About what,’ he says,” Marci mutters. “What do you think?” She raises what Foggy used to fondly think of as the ‘killer brow.’ Even at 10:30 on a Saturday, she’s devastating. Not a hair out of place. 

“…Matt?” Foggy says weakly. 

“ _Matt_ ,” she repeats, giving the name weight. “Client?” Foggy shakes his head. 

“We’re friends,” he says. Marci wouldn’t be Marci if she couldn’t sense emotional weakness. He sees her attention sharpen. “He came into the office a few months ago and I gave him coffee and we’re friends now,” he blurts.

“He came into your office, but he’s not a client,” Marci says. “But you’re friends, and he keeps coming back.” Foggy nods. “And you want to jump his bones.” Because he was expecting something like that, Foggy doesn’t _actually_ choke on his coffee. 

“No,” he says, with great dignity.

“So come back to my place. Let’s screw,” Marci says. This time, Foggy does choke on his coffee. Just a little bit. “I thought so. You want to _jump his bones._ ” She actually seems kind of… excited about the prospect. Foggy feels a pang in his chest. It reminds him strongly of their first year of law school. Still, he has his sanity and reputation to think of.

“No,” he says firmly. Then, because he’s weak, he adds, “Anyway, it wouldn’t work.”

“If you say, ‘it’s complicated,’ I will scream.”

“Don’t scream, but it really is kind of complicated.” Marci sighs and flags down the waiter. 

“Please bring me a mimosa,” she tells the man. She glances at Foggy and adds, “And my friend would like another cup of coffee. Decaf this time.” Foggy raises a token protest about Marci’s executive decision about his caffeine level, but he waits until after the waiter has gone to do it. It’s obnoxious and controlling and presumptuous, but there’s a smidgeon of care at its core. At least, Foggy thinks there is.

“Tell me why it’s complicated, and I’ll tell you why you’re an idiot,” Marci says.


	12. Babble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more with feeling!

“Matt! Um,” Foggy says. “Will you—come back this afternoon? Around closing time?” Even if Matt couldn’t hear his stuttering heartbeat, he would be able to hear Foggy’s nervousness in his voice.

“Ah, okay?” Matt says, taken somewhat off guard. He usually spends his afternoons skulking and gathering intelligence. He can miss one afternoon in favor of spending time with Foggy.

“Great!” Foggy says. “Great. Well. Um. See you then?”

“See you then,” Matt agrees.

The winter’s just getting colder, so he lets himself into Claire’s apartment and crashes on the sofa. He used to be able to spend all night as Daredevil and spend most of the day sleeping, but these days he visits Foggy (and Karen) more often than not. The company is good, but the lost hours of sleep are making themselves felt. He’s out cold almost instantly. 

He wakes up about half an hour before Foggy and Karen usually close the office, indulges himself with a quick shower in Claire’s bathroom, and packs up. 

“Matt!” Foggy calls happily. “Great!” Karen has left already, and Foggy is sitting with his laptop and a pile of papers. “Glad you’re here,” he reiterates. He shuts his laptop screen and starts shuffling papers around. “Okay, so listen, obviously you don’t have to and all but I’ve been thinking, what with it getting colder and all.”

“I still have the key you gave me, Foggy,” Matt says, hoping his tone is coming off as _amused and fond_ rather than _still touched about it. Also still awkward._

“Yeah, and you use it so much, right?” Foggy says. Matt must make some sort of face. “And I promised I wouldn’t talk to Karen without your say-so, and in the meantime you’ve definitely talked to Karen, right?” 

“Right,” Matt lies weakly. 

“Right,” Foggy says. He sighs—it’s not heavy enough to be exasperated, but Matt can’t tell if it’s resigned, or amused, or, or fond or whatever—and runs a hand through his hair. They must be reaching the meat of the matter. Foggy’s been borderline nervous since Matt arrived, and it’s picking up into full-blown nervousness now. “Okay, uh, what would you say if I said I wanted you to come home with me? No funny business! Obviously. Besides, I’m such a marshmallow you could probably kick my ass—But that’s not important right now! What’s important is. It’s getting really cold out and you’ve been looking really worn-out lately, and I know you have your ways, but I’d like you to at least know where my place is and that you can always crash there if you need to—or want to! And, well, no time like the present, right?”

Matt honestly isn’t registering every work coming out of Foggy’s mouth right now. He’s still trying to comprehend the whole invitation into Foggy’s actual home. Matt must have agreed somehow because he’s still trying to wrap his brain around the whole _you could come home with me_ even as they’re standing in Foggy’s hallway as Foggy unlocks his apartment door. 

“Here it is,” Foggy says, “Home sweet home.”


	13. The grand tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt familiarizes himself with Foggy's apartment

Honestly, Foggy really glossed over the whole homeless thing with Marci. He sort of made it sound like Matt was just super poor and ambiguously unemployed—and to be fair, both were true. Even then, Marci’s advice had been to move on as quickly as possible, whether that meant sleeping with him or cutting all ties and refusing to open the door to him. 

Spending the better part of the weekend rearranging his apartment so he didn’t have so much stuff lying around on the floor probably wasn’t consistent with her advice. Inviting Matt over definitely wasn’t. Whatever. Marci wasn’t the boss of Foggy.

“And this is the bathroom,” Foggy babbles. He’s giving Matt the grand tour. “Clean towels are in here. Bath towels are at chest height and handtowels and facecloths are face height. Weird stuff like beach towels and random bottles of shampoo and ancient cough syrup is knee height.” Matt smiles. It’s nice, but it’s awkward as hell. They both are, really. But awkwardness aside, Matt looks—nice in Foggy’s apartment. Not in a creepy way, just… nice. Maybe it’s the cheap lamps, but Matt’s face looks softer and less drawn. “Oh, and the first aid kit is on the far left on the bottom shelf. Just in case.” Matt nods and kneels, apparently making sure he knows where it is. Foggy’s in the middle of thinking it’s a depressing but practical thing to do, but then Matt pulls the first aid kit out and opens it to acquaint himself with its contents.

“Band-aids,” he says. 

“Yep,” Foggy confirms.

“Gauze pads,” Matt says. He rubs his fingers across the paper packaging. “Non-adhesive.” Foggy makes an affirmative noise. “Ace bandage, alcohol prep pads, medical tape, tweezers, gloves—nice.” He opens the little plastic bag with the gloves in it and sniffs. “Nitrile?”

“Uh-huh,” Foggy confirms. 

“Butterfly closures,” Matt announces. They’re in a little box, and all he did was _shake it_ next to his ear. “Moleskin, scissors.” He grabs one of the pill bottles and shakes it. “Ibuprofen?” he asks. 

“Benadryl,” Foggy corrects. “Ibuprofen is the big bottle.” Matt grabs the right bottle and shakes it. “That’s the one,” Foggy says weakly. 

“Not bad,” Matt compliments, fitting everything back into the box more neatly than Foggy does. 

“Thanks,” Foggy says. He’s trying not to think about how often Matt comes into the office looking like someone’s been beating on him, but he’s not succeeding. “Why don’t I show you more of the kitchen?” he asks. Matt agrees, seeming a little awkward himself. Foggy orients him where the glasses, plates, and bowls are, as well as the basic appliances. Matt’s attentive, but he’s nowhere near as interested in where Foggy keeps the Tupperware as he was in the first aid kit. Foggy shakes it off. 

“Oh, and the building has laundry in the basement!” Foggy adds brightly. “Just a thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... have no idea what's happening anymore. BUT HEY this is an excellent time to make sure YOU have some semblance of a first-aid kit! AND if you haven't thought about your emergency preparedness lately, it's a good idea to do that, too. I'm 100% serious. It's much, much better to assemble one well before any emergency. http://www.ready.gov/ can help you get started.


	14. first night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy loaned Matt a shirt and some pajama pants.

Foggy loaned Matt a shirt. And some pajama pants.

Daredevil is supposed to be terrorizing the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen right now. He’s supposed to be busting heads and figuring out how to take down Fisk. 

Matt is not supposed to be sitting in Foggy’s apartment eating rice and tomatoes.

The pants are flannel, obviously well-loved and worn often. The T-shirt is the same. They’re intoxicatingly soft. They smell like Foggy.

They don’t smell like Foggy’s _skin,_ but they smell like his clothing (which makes sense). It’s not as simple as smelling like his detergent, or even the detergent-deodorant-shampoo-etc combo that Foggy uses. But they smell like his detergent and his apartment and all the little things that, taken together, makes it possible for Matt to recognize Foggy’s possessions as well as the man himself. _Matt_ smells like Foggy, or like someone who could be Foggy’s.

He curls his bare toes against the plastic tiles of the tiny kitchen-cum-dining room. Foggy offers him thirds and Matt declines. They talk about books, and after dinner Matt helps with the dishes because Foggy cooked. 

Matt is uncomfortable. He’s freshly showered. His belly is full. He’s wearing soft, clean clothing and can hear the dryer in the basement with his own clothes. He has a place to sleep tonight that’s warm, dry, and safe. He’s in the company of a man (his friend) who has zero with to hurt him and no expectation of being hurt. His bags are in a corner of the room, easily accessible but out of the way, and Foggy has expressed zero interest in pawing through them. It’s easily the nicest and most uncomfortable night Matt’s had all year.

They sit on the couch with cups of tea and continue to compare scifi and fantasy. Foggy’s eyelids start drooping and he excuses himself to bed. He sticks his head out of the bathroom and tells Matt that he has an extra toothbrush, if Matt wants it. Foggy’s heartrate is elevated. He’s feeling shy, or maybe just nervous. Matt takes him up on the offer. 

Foggy goes to bed and Matt stretches out on the couch. It’s not as soft as Claire’s, but it’s not like sleeping outside. As far as Matt is concerned, the biggest difference is the fact that _this_ couch smells like Foggy. He listens to Foggy’s breathing even out into sleep. If he could limit his hearing to just this apartment, just his body and Foggy’s in the other room, maybe he would finally be comfortable. He tries, but he can’t tune out the gasps, the screaming, the laughter, the crying, the sounds of the city.


	15. <3 2 <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Karen begins, casualness oozing off her words. “What’s got you distracted lately?”

Apparently Foggy pushed too hard, or something. After that one night, Matt doesn’t come back—not just _doesn’t come back_ to Foggy’s apartment. Doesn’t come back to the office. Jesus.

Karen has her purse over one shoulder and is looking around the room speculatively. 

“Going somewhere?” Foggy asks. She gives him a look like she’s not sure if she should be annoyed or concerned. 

“We have a deposition in forty-five minutes,” she reminds him. “We want to get there early?”

“Oh, crap.” Foggy lurches out of his hair and starts frantically trying to stuff anything that looks like it might be useful into his bag. He stubs his toe. “—!” he yelps, thinking, _shit,_ but vocalizing a weird high note.

“I know you hate crossing town, but you like our client. Try not to put yourself in the emergency room before we get her off the hook, okay?” she says. She takes pity on him and starts shuffling his things into his bag while Foggy groans like he’s been mortally wounded. They’re en route when the inquisition begins.

“So,” Karen begins, casualness oozing off her words. “What’s got you distracted lately?”

“Distracted? Me, Karen? I think not,” Foggy denies automatically. Karen snorts.

“Does it have to do with why Matt hasn’t been around?” she asks. Jesus, Karen. Go straight for the throat, why don’t you.

“Jesus, Karen,” Foggy says.

“Is that a no?” she asks sweetly. All of the women Foggy spends time with are terrifying. It’s great, but not always convenient.

“It’s not _not_ a no,” Foggy evades. Karen smacks him lightly on the arm. “Ugh, fine, maybe.”

“Does it have to do with _Marci?_ ” Karen asks. Ever since Marci dropped by the office, Karen has demonstrated a slightly alarming interest in the woman. Foggy would be much more alarmed if Karen had given any indication of wanting to meet Marci again in the flesh, but for now she seems content with Marci stories, and Foggy’s alarm remains slight.

“Ugh, why did I hire such an intelligent woman,” Foggy grumbles. She grins and smacks him on the arm again. 

“She shows up, Matt disappears, and you start forgetting about depositions instead of pacing for an hour before we leave,” she says. “It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes.” She considers. “ _Does_ it have to do with Marci?” she asks, sounding more serious. Foggy shakes his head and waves one of his hands to dispel whatever blowout Karen is picturing.

“Marci is not some… shadowy puppet master in my life who secretly controls me with an iron fist,” Foggy says. “If you’ll forgive the mixed metaphors.”

“I was more wondering if she ran him off somehow,” Karen says.

“Oh. Well she didn’t do that either.” Foggy sighs. He should offer Karen something true instead of a shoddy excuse or a comfortable lie. “I think it was something _I_ did. I tried to do something nice for him, but instead I ran him off, Karen.”

“Oh.” Karen lets the silence settle for a moment, then bumps his shoulder companionably. “I hope he comes back soon.”

“Me too.”

She smiles a little. “Obviously.” She changes the subject, prompting him with questions about the deposition so he goes in prepared to help their client instead of completely bogged down in his own social life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, from my perspective I'm posting this Xmas night, but from AO3's perspective it's the 26th already. Timezones!


	16. patching up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire sighs so deeply Matt imagines she could blow the whole building down with them in it.

“If you’ve decided the city’s going to do fine without you, you could just retire,” Claire says. It’s such a non sequitur that Matt doesn’t know what to do with it.

“What?” he eventually manages. He’s lying on his front on Claire’s kitchen floor. Claire is stitching up a long gash on his back. After she’s done, she’ll have to stitch up a shorter gash next to it, and probably one on his side.

“This is the third time this week, Matt,” Claire hisses. Her voice has a tremor, but her hands are as steady as ever. “You’re going to die, everyone is, but if you keep going out in this condition you’re going to die before Christmas. You might not even make it to Thanksgiving.” Matt considers saying something asinine about how thankful he’s feeling right now, but fortunately Claire continues her tirade and deprives him of the opportunity. “So I’m just saying, you can just retire. You don’t actually have to die on the job, which is what’s going to happen if you keep this up.”

“Noted,” Matt says in as dry a voice he can muster. 

“You haven’t even given me the usual excuses,” Claire mutters. She knows he can hear her—she knows everything about his senses by now. 

“What excuses?” he asks. 

“’I had to,’ ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ ‘I’m so close to fixing whatever; I’ll take a break never,’” Claire recites. “You’ve been giving me the same lines for years, so I don’t think you finally realized how unmoved I am by them.” 

“I _am_ close,” Matt interjects. Claire finishes another stitch.

“Are you?” she asks softly. Matt’s silence is more eloquent than he could hope to be. Claire sighs so deeply Matt imagines she could blow the whole building down with them in it. 

“You have to slow down,” she says quietly. She starts another stitch. “You _need_ a break. Your body needs a break. If you really think the work you do is important, then you need to learn to do it without killing yourself in the process.” She finishes the stitch. Her controlled breathing is the loudest sound in the room. “You can’t take down crime lords from a grave.” Matt’s head is resting on top of his crossed arms. He presses his eye sockets against the top arm. She finishes stitching up the long gash on his back and moves on to the shorter one.

“Since you haven’t been giving me the usual excuses, I’m guessing this isn’t some home stretch for putting someone away, like with the Callahan Mob,” she says eventually. After Matt got the Callahan gang put away for good, he spent five days convalescing on Claire’s couch. He has vague memories of the fourth and fifth days, and almost nothing of the preceding days; that’s how bad it was. “Did you—is it like with that one guy, with the kids?” The one guy, with the kids, was the first person Daredevil _knows_ went to the mortuary instead of the hospital. It was unintentional, but Daredevil had been hitting him especially hard. Matt only half-remembers the moment when he realized the man wasn’t going to survive. The memories are too far away and too close, a mixture of incongruous detail and emotional fragments sharp enough to cut. He felt dirty and ashamed afterwards, and worse because it felt like a betrayal to those kids to regret the man’s death. Matt still gets a cold, sick feeling in his gut when he thinks about those kids. 

He almost got himself killed, trying to go out as Daredevil immediately following the event. Too distracted. Claire had assumed the burden of saving Daredevil’s life again, that time from himself. Daredevil and Matt have been mostly successful in not putting her in that situation again.

“No, nothing like that,” Matt says vehemently, once he’s shaken off the inevitable tidal wave of memories. “No,” he says again for good measure.

“Okay,” Claire says. Her tone of voice is tinged with incredulity, but it is outweighed by resignation. She may not believe him, but she’ll pretend to for now. Matt asks about Santiago, partly for something to do and partly because he does want to know about the kid. Claire’s been giving him news about the boy for years, so Matt feels almost like he knows him even though they’ve never met. She finishes stitching him up and decides that a dressing should be sufficient for the wound on his side.


	17. toodle-oo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt enters the office slowly. He sits in one of the client chairs, but keeps his bags near his feet instead of resting them against the wall. This will be awkward.

“Oh, hello. It’s been a while,” Karen says, polite but cool. Matt winces. _Good,_ Karen thinks. He’s standing in the doorway of the office, not sure if he’s welcome. 

“Hi, Karen,” he says. “What are you working on?” 

“I really shouldn’t tell you. Mr. Nelson’s clients have a right to privacy,” Karen tells him. She relents slightly, “But I will say we wrapped up the Acosta case two weeks ago, since you were involved with that one.” She shuffles the papers around on her desk, making stacks and rearranging them, just to have something to do with her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” Matt says, awkward. He’s still standing in the damn doorway with his bags and cane. Karen keeps fiddling with the papers. He looks like shit.

“…Can I come in?” he says eventually. Karen feels like growling. Can he come in? Sure he can. Should he? Karen doesn’t have a damn clue. Would Foggy want him to? Probably, God help them all. Does Karen? Fucked if she can make up her mind. Christ. 

“Fine,” she says curtly. She can see Matt hesitate. For shit’s sake. “Come in if you’re coming in,” she says. She lets the second half, _Otherwise get out and close the door_ , stay locked up behind her teeth. 

Matt enters the office slowly. He sits in one of the client chairs, but keeps his bags near his feet instead of resting them against the wall. This will be awkward.

She’s right. It’s incredibly awkward. Matt doesn’t seem to know what to say or do, and neither does Karen if she’s being honest with herself. She could chase him out and he’d go, or she could offer an olive branch and he’d take it. It’s a choice she doesn’t want to make. She’s imagined really cutting comments she could make, but she’s also imagined pouring him some tea and getting a hot meal into him. In short, she’s conflicted. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to say something any time soon, so Karen tries to scrape up enough concentration to get some work done with him sitting there. She’s slogging through a task that normally takes no time at all when he speaks again.

“…how is Foggy?” he asks. She stops what she’s doing and lets her head flop onto the back of the chair.

“How _is_ Foggy?” she asks the world at large. “Foggy is. Fine. We’re both fine, thanks for asking.” Matt trips over himself to apologize and include her wellbeing in his query too, but she waves him off. “Stop, no need. Foggy is. Okay.” She rolls her head to the side so she can peer at him. He’s gaunt, and he was moving more stiffly than usual when he came in. “He missed you,” she admits. “It isn’t the same without you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Matt says reflexively. He sighs and rubs his eyes. “I know you’re mad. Is he mad? Should I just go?” In a small voice he adds, “I know I deserve it, but I don’t think I can handle it right now.” Honesty and vulnerability are Karen’s fucking kryptonite. She kind of wants to smack him. And wrap him in a blanket. While screaming at him. Being angry is exhausting. Being angry at someone who isn’t there, who just fucking dropped off the face of the Earth without so much as a toodle-oo and might be lying on a slab under the name “John Doe,” is even more exhausting. It’s hard to feel ill-used and callous at the same time. 

“He’s not angry,” Karen says. _Except at himself._ “Since I’ve been angry enough for the both of us, he’s been letting me do all the heavy lifting. That was a joke, Matt. You’re allowed to laugh. Geez.” Matt’s crooked, tentative smile gets a little bigger.

“You know, I—” he stops midsentence, his face going white. “Do you—fire,” he gasps out. He lurches to his feet and waves his hand at her. “Fire, _fire,_ ” he repeats. “I smell—” He grabs one of his bags with one hand and Karen’s wrist with the other. She manages to snag her purse and coat as he drags her out of the office and down the hall. He’s only half-forming sentences and Karen is half-objecting, but the fire alarms start going off just as they hit street level. They stand in the street as the alarms continue to sound and other people start to stream out of the building.


	18. 1st person plural, geez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the fuck,” Foggy said before it occurred to him to say anything else, up to and including nothing. “Uh, hi, Karen. Nice weather we’re having.” Karen laughed a little shakily and walked close enough to slap him on the shoulder. 
> 
> “Great weather,” she said, “Too bad about all the smoke.”
> 
> “Uh, yeah about that,” Foggy began. “No, fuck this."

Foggy was having a pretty mediocre day—which, honestly, was not a complaint _per se_. He’s just finishing up a few errands—one at the police station, another at a client’s place of work—and is on his way back to the office when his cell phone rings.

“Foggy? Foggy, it’s Karen.” She starts speaking before he even finished his own greeting. Then she utters the three words most likely to cause him to panic. “Don’t freak out,” _Karen, no, counterproductive much?_ “We’re both okay, but there’s been a fire at the office.”

“What?” Foggy yelps, “Are you okay?”

“We’re fine,” Karen repeats. “It, the fire, it wasn’t in our office but it was pretty close. I grabbed my purse, but I didn’t think to take the files or anything and by the time I thought of it, I was already down the stairs—” 

“I don’t care about the stupid files, Karen, as long as you’re okay. Are the, the medics there yet? Firefighters? Cops? Have you been checked out for, like, smoke or anything? You could have inhaled it and you might not know,” Foggy babbles. 

“I’m fine, we’re both fine,” Karen repeats. “We got checked out by the EMTs or whatever. I’m fine. We were the first people out of the building.” 

“I’m like a block away, now—holy shit, smoke,” Foggy says, breathing more heavily into the phone. Rounding the corner means he can see down the street to their building, where a plume of smoke is rising. In the grand scheme of things, it isn’t the biggest plume of smoke he’s ever seen, but it doesn’t have to be to give him that extra jolt of panic. He shifts into an awkward jog, dress shoes slapping the sidewalk, the strap of his bag jerking against his shoulder and bag itself bumping against his side, and phone pressed tightly to his ear. “Are you outside? I’m almost there,” he says, already craning his neck to look for his friend.

“Yeah, sort of… across the street, behind the firetruck,” Karen says. “I’m hanging up now. See you soon.” She hangs up before Foggy can say anything else. Foggy focuses on not falling on his face or losing any of his shit as he jogs the rest of the way to the building.

He’s craning his neck and trying to find Karen in the hubbub of people—not a huge crowd, but big enough that he couldn’t see her right away—but hears her first.

“Foggy! Foggy Nelson!” she calls. She’s next to the building across from their own, tucked into a corner formed by the wall and the staircase railing. “Over here!” Foggy kicks himself back into a jog, making it a few steps before stopping cold. Matt’s next to Karen, head ducked and arms crossed, slouching like he’s trying to stay out of sight. 

“What the fuck,” Foggy says before it occurs to him to say anything else, up to and including nothing. “Uh, hi, Karen. Nice weather we’re having.” Karen laughs a little shakily and walks close enough to slap him on the shoulder. 

“Great weather,” she says, “Too bad about all the smoke.”

“Uh, yeah about that,” Foggy begins. “No, fuck this. Matt, hi! What, um, what?” Matt jolts in place, which is dumb because _there’s no way acknowledgement of his presence should be a surprise._

“What is he doing here?” Karen supplies, radiating helpfulness. “What has he been doing all this time? What does he want for lunch?” 

“Yes, no, all of the above,” Foggy says. “Wait, no, are you okay? Are _you_ okay?”

“We’re both fine, Foggy. We got okayed by the EMTs and everything.” 

“Good, good,” Foggy says, nodding. “Okay, now: what the hell?” Karen glances between Foggy’s face and Matt standing behind her. He doesn’t appear inclined to jump in anytime soon. 

“About the fire, or Matt, or lunch? I’m thinking Thai,” she says. 

“I see what you’re trying to do: you’re trying to distract me from—” Foggy waves his free arm wildly, taking in Matt, the emergency vehicles, and their still-burning building. Karen nods and ducks her head in a way that says, ‘Yes and I think I’m going to get away with it.’ “…Fine. Three seats at To Thai For,” he says. Karen grins and hurries back to where Matt is still standing. She swings Matt’s bag over her shoulder and grabs Matt’s elbow.

“You heard the boss,” she says. “Thai food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! Semester's going well. Thanks for your patience, and also for your comments <3 not gonna lie, I opened this document back up because someone left a comment and I was like "OH yeah that thing exists."


	19. cut it with a knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What? Sorry?” Matt blurts, in the _sorry-I-didn’t-catch-that-please-say-it-again_ way.
> 
> “Good,” Foggy says shortly. “That makes this easier.”

They manage to stave off the inevitable leaden silences for the entire fifteen minutes it takes to walk to the Thai place, get seated, and put in their orders. And by “they,” Matt means Foggy and Karen. If he’s being honest, Karen does most of the heavy lifting as far as filling the air with chatter.

But soon enough, the waitress has taken their orders, and silence crashes over the table like a wave.

“I knew it couldn’t last,” Foggy sighs after an excruciating minute. Karen tilts her head, presumably while looking at him inquisitively. “The conversation,” Foggy explains. Karen hums noncommittally. She tilts her head again, this time in Matt’s direction. Another excruciating minute passes. 

“Okay, I’m going to the bathroom to wash my hands,” Karen announces. If you can be breezy and cheerful in an aggressive way, Karen’s doing it. She leaves before either of the men think of something to say in response, taking her phone with her. The silence is twice as painful without Karen as a buffer.

“I’m sorry,” Foggy says—out of _fucking nowhere._

“What? Sorry?” Matt blurts, in the _sorry-I-didn’t-catch-that-please-say-it-again_ way.

“Good,” Foggy says shortly. “That makes this easier.” 

“I… good?” Matt tries again. Foggy must take pity on him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still have a lot of,” he waves his hands in the air next to his head, “ _feelings_ about how you just dropped out of my life—our lives. But I figure, this is Matt, he’s a friend, if he left it’s for a reason. And since you left after—after I totally strong-armed you into coming to my apartment, I figure that’s it. So yeah. I’m sorry.” He pauses, then offers, “I was totally waving my hands around in the air for that whole speech, to try to convey how much I mean it.”

“Fog—Foggy, I,” Matt takes a deep breath. “I _am_ sorry,” he says. That’s a good place to start. “I, I just.” Yeah there’s no way Matt can explain _why_ he stopped coming. Half the time, he still doesn’t know. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I missed you—both.” Something else manages to filter through his miserable fog. “It wasn’t your fault,” he adds. “When I left, it was just—it wasn’t your fault.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, voice too even. He doesn’t believe Matt. 

“It wasn’t,” Matt says more firmly. “It was—other stuff. In my life.” Matt firmly suppresses the impulse to wince.

“Okay,” Foggy repeats. Matt listens hard. He’s pretty sure Foggy is angry now. It’s hard to sort out anxiety and anger and who-knows-what-else. But there’s not much Matt can do about it. 

“Uh, do you think Karen fell in?” Matt mumbles. Foggy bursts out laughing. The sound has a rough edge that makes Matt think maybe Foggy is as surprised by his own laughter as Matt is.

“Maybe she decided to sneak out and stick us with the check,” Foggy says. His pulse is still hissing with that unidentified tension, but he’s playing along. 

“Before the food got here? Lousy plan.”

“Mm, her purse is still here, too,” Foggy agrees. “I can’t really imagine what sticking me with the bill would accomplish if she’s not going to eat too.”

“She did put in her order, maybe she was hoping to bankrupt you,” Matt says. 

“Yeah, that rad na is going to put the whole firm in the red,” Foggy says. Matt hears Karen’s footsteps approaching.

“Feeling better?” she asks breezily.

“Matt was worried you fell in,” Foggy tells her. 

“Foggy thought you pulling a dine and dash,” Matt says.

“Before the food even comes? Lousy plan,” Karen says. Foggy chuffs a laugh. Matt smiles tentatively. Karen sits and they say stupid crap for a while until the food comes. 

“So, Matt, where’d you go?” Karen asks. Foggy chokes. Matt doesn’t because he knew damn well that Karen was going to say _something_ with the way her heart sped up.

Of course, not choking is different from knowing what to say. He tries to pretend like the bite he already has in his mouth needs a _lot_ of chewing.

“Uh,” he says intelligently. He tries again. “Um?”

“Jesus, Karen,” Foggy says. “You could try taking a prisoner once in a while.”

“I don’t want to,” Karen says. Her _I’m-not-angry_ voice isn’t as good as Foggy’s. “I want to know where Matt went, why he left, why he came back, and if he’s going to do it again.” Her voice starts rising after _went_ , but Foggy kicks her under the table and she finishes her list of inquiries in a venomous hiss. 

“I’m, I, I won’t do it again?” Matt tries. 

“Good,” Karen snaps. “Why did you come back?”

“I missed you,” Matt mumbles. He’s pretty sure his face is turning red. He shoves more pad thai into his face. It’s like clay in his mouth, but it means he doesn’t have to talk again for a bit.

“He said that earlier?” Foggy offers. Karen huffs and scrubs a hand across her face. 

“You missed us,” Karen says. Her sentence goes up a bit at the end. Matt nods.

“Oh. Okay. She takes a big drink of her water. “Why? Why’d you stop coming by?”

“I, I can’t say,” Matt says, feeling ashamed.

“Where’d you go?” Karen asks.

“Can’t say,” Matt says again.

“Can’t or won’t?” Karen asks. Her voice is a mixture of tiredness and resignation that could almost pass for gentle.

“ _Karen,_ ” Foggy says repressively. Karen inhales sharply.

“…Sorry,” Karen says. “That was, I shouldn’t have said all that. Sorry.” Matt shrugs.

“I’m sorry too.”

They sit in silence through second helpings. 

“Marci texted me when I was in the bathroom,” Karen volunteers. 

“Oh, dear god,” Foggy says with feeling. Matt’s face does a thing. Karen honest-to-god cackles at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Karen


	20. please let this be a normal field trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen shrieks and throws a muffin at Foggy’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was going to be serious or touching or something. Ha!

“So are Karen and Marci friends now?” Matt asks. It’s the next day. Karen made it clear on no uncertain terms that Matt _would_ be showing his face this morning and he _would_ eat whatever she thrust into his hands for breakfast. Ironically, Karen is late today. Well, it’s not like they’re doing any billable work this morning. The fire, it turned out, was in the office next door. Their office is mostly okay, but one wall is fucked up so they’re cleaning it and the area around it. Fortunately, the coffee machine is fine. 

“They are, may God have mercy on our souls,” Foggy says cheerfully. “Sugar?”

“Two scoops, please,” Matt says.

“ _Two_ scoops, Matt, what’s the special occasion?” Ha, joke’s on him. Foggy’s brewing the good coffee today, made from actual coffee beans. The scrape of the sugar in the bag and the irregular tapping of the spoon against the side of the mug are calming sounds. 

“Something, something, homecoming?” Matt says, and his smile is shy and not at all devastating, okay, Foggy can totally handle it. 

“Aw, you goof, take your coffee,” Foggy says. Matt takes his coffee.

“So: Karen and Marci?” Matt asks lightly. Foggy winces.

“After you, um, went on hiatus,” He begins. If Matt thought it was a harmless diversion, joke’s on him! There are no safe topics. “I was maybe a little, uh, upset.” Understatement, and also fundamentally misleading. Upset implies Foggy was weeping all over a tower somewhere; Foggy was following fine Nelson tradition by putting his head down and plodding along until things got better. Or worse.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. Foggy shrugs. He’s not going to say _it’s okay_ and it’s still a bit soon for _you’re forgiven_ , but he’s not in the mood to rake Matt over the coals.

“Anyway, my moping apparently was the catalyst Karen needed to reach out to Marci in person,” Foggy continues. “She looked her up and got her work contact information. Karen should really think about being, like, an investigator or whatever when she’s back on her feet. We could throw her cases now and then when we need someone to do legwork for us. We could say we’re talking to our _contacts._ ”

“What was the last case you had where you needed someone to do legwork?” Matt asks. 

“I know you think you’re being clever, but actually there are plenty. It’s just that Karen has a ferocious love for the Hall of Records and City Archives. And the library, don’t get me started on the library. She’s not even afraid of microfiche, which impresses the hell out of me, and it should impress you too.”

“Consider me duly impressed,” Matt says with a wonderful dryness that, wow, okay, makes his heart do a little ( _caffeinated!_ ) flutter. Foggy needs to get his life together and then stare at it until he figures out where it all went wrong. Foggy, just. He missed the guy. He’s still mad, but he also missed him, and it’s just. Bluhhhhh.

“As you should be!” Foggy says, rallying. “And now Karen, like, _texts_ Marci all the time. There’s texting, Matt. Sometimes she giggles. Giggles!” Maybe chortles would be a better word. Or snigger. 

“Well that sounds nice,” Matt says, like the contrary jackwagon he is.

“Jackwagon,” Foggy says. Matt smiles. It’s devastating. Foggy might need to switch to decaf. 

“I concede the point, counsellor,” Matt says.

“And from something she said last week, I’m pretty sure Marci either took her shopping or to dinner. Unclear.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“I didn’t want to pry. Or give myself nightmares.”

“Have you always been this dramatic?”

“Oh-ho! Don’t tell me I never told you about my days in the theat _re_!” Foggy says. They’ve found their way to actual safe conversational territory. Hooray! 

Matt smiles. “Musical theater?” he asks. 

“You joke, good sir, but I’ll have you know I have the voice of an angel!” Matt’s smile goes a little—different. Foggy’s not sure what it means. 

“I’m sure. I’d like to hear that some time.” 

Oh, okay that’s what that smile—which is gone now, by the way—means. Huh. 

“If you’re trying to con me into giving you a personal concert and singalong, joke’s on you: you’d have to con me into stopping,” Foggy’s mouth says. “I’m starting with the Magic School Bus theme song. After the first thirty minutes, I’ll start _High School Musical._ ” On the one hand, now Foggy has to explain that he has nieces and nephews. On the other, at least Matt looks less like he’s going to bolt for the door or window—whichever’s closest. Fuck it, Foggy is explaining _nothing._ It was funny when people in college thought he was really into kid’s shows and it’ll probably be funny now.

“Thirty minutes?” Matt asks, looking delighted. “Foggy, theme songs are thirty _seconds._ ”

“Yes, I’m word-perfect on the Magic School Bus theme, and by the time I’m done you will be too. It’ll be great.”

“What’s great?” Karen asks, swinging into the office with a box balanced under one arm.

“Nothing,” Foggy says.

“Foggy’s going to sing for me,” Matt says at the same time. “He’s starting with the theme song for—”

“—The Magic School Bus. No. _No,_ Foggy. Not again,” Karen says, putting the box down firmly. 

“’Beep beep, _beep beep,_ seatbelts, everyone!’” Foggy says. Karen shrieks and throws a muffin—so that’s what was in the box—at Foggy’s head. 

“’Please let this be a normal field trip,’” Karen mutters, then shakes her head. She puts her hands on her hips and stares Matt down, to no apparent effect. “What did you do? Why is he singing that?”

“You’re singing it too now!” Foggy says. She ignores him. He eats his muffin. Cranberry. Delicious. 

“I wanted him to sing something nice, but instead he’s going to do the theme song and something called _High School Musical,_ ” Matt says. He’s smiling. Foggy’s office might have been a little on fire yesterday, but he feels like a goddamned winner. 

Foggy, of course, doesn’t actually sing the same thirty-second ditty over and over again. Karen does. Under her breath, without realizing what she’s doing. Until _lunchtime._

Still, by the middle of the day, the office is looking a lot better. It’s not good-as-new (however good that ever was), but Foggy can’t deny it’s better than it was yesterday.


	21. interstitial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever heard Foggy sing?” Matt asks, feeling only a little bit pathetic. Karen, mercifully, just answers the question instead of commenting.

“Have you ever heard Foggy sing?” Matt asks, feeling only a little bit pathetic. Karen, mercifully, just answers the question instead of commenting.

“A few times, usually when he doesn’t realize I’ve gotten to the office yet.” She takes a bite of her salad. “Obviously I’m not an expert, but he’s got a nice voice. Clear. Hits the right notes almost all the time.” 

“High praise,” Matt says dryly. Karen huffs quietly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Sometimes he sings those, too,” she says cheerfully. “Hymns. Praises, get it?” 

“I get it,” Matt says, less dry. Despite all the eavesdropping he’s done on Foggy—and there has been a lot—he doesn’t know if he ever heard Foggy sing anything like that. 

“Mm hm,” Karen replies. “I guess he used to be a choirboy.” 

“I. Okay,” is all Matt manages to say. He has no further comments about that particular revelation.

“Yeah. I have a favorite hymn thanks to that jerk,” Karen volunteers. Matt makes an interested sound. “It goes like, ‘Oh to Grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be…’” Matt listens, recognizes the melody if not with those particular words. 

“Pretty,” he says. Karen nods and flaps a hand. 

“Better when he sings it,” she said easily. “He sounds like he means it.”

Matt. Definitely doesn’t have feelings about that. He doesn’t. He also doesn’t wonder which denomination Foggy grew up.

“Hm,” is all he says. Karen chuckles to herself and changes the subject.

 

\--

“I need to go away again for a while,” Matt says at the end of the day. Foggy and Karen are there, tidying up the files. 

“You just got back,” Karen says. She doesn’t stop punching holes in the papers she’s sorting, but she does punch them with extra vigor.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Matt says inadequately. “Not until next week, I think.”

“You might notice my admirable restraint in asking what business forces you to stay away from us, Matthew,” Karen says. Foggy apparently thinks this is too much because he waves at her and there’s some definite body language that follows. Karen sighs. “I’m sorry,” Karen says, sounding like she means it. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” Matt says. “A few days, I think.”

“And if you’re gone longer?” she asks. Matt hears Foggy choke. 

“Then I’ll come back later,” is all Matt can say.

“Is there a way we can find out if you’re okay?” Karen asks, sounding almost gentle. Matt shakes his head. He hears her take a breath to ask another question, hesitate, then— 

“A week?” Foggy asks. Matt nods. Foggy nods, too. “I just nodded. Decisively. Okay. You should come over for dinner tonight, Matt.” 

Matt means to say no, he really does, but instead he ends up back at Foggy’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a gross cold. It's gross. I might have been very slightly feverish while writing this, but at least it's words???  
> Wash your hands often and drink plenty of water, friends.


	22. slumber party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen brings breakfast every day as her personal show of support. Foggy appreciates it because (a) breakfast (b) with company and also (c) she usually brings coffee brewed by someone who cared about making it taste good.

Matt ends up sleeping in Foggy’s apartment for the entire week. It’s nice because, well, Foggy likes having Matt around, and he especially likes knowing his friend has somewhere safe and warm to sleep. But it’s also worrying because Foggy isn’t an idiot. It has to mean something that Matt acquiesces so easily to Foggy’s invitation. It would be nice if it meant that Matt trusts Foggy and is sorry he left without saying goodbye and wants to make up for lost time and likes being around Foggy, but Foggy doesn’t have that much faith in the universe’s kindness. It probably means that whatever stuff is going to make Matt disappear for a while is danger-stuff, possibly worse danger-stuff than whatever means Matt shows up injured more often than not. 

But Foggy doesn’t know what to do about that, so he focuses on making sure Matt is comfortable and fed. Matt takes to the comforts of Foggy’s apartment awkwardly. One time, Foggy gets up in the wee hours to get a drink of water and he peeks into the living room to see Matt sleeping on the floor. Granted, he’s sleeping on the floor under a bunch of blankets and with a pillow under his head, but still. At 3am, Foggy thinks foggily (haha) that maybe his couch is too lumpy, or too soft (? That’s a thing?) and resolves not to ask about it. 

Karen brings breakfast every day as her personal show of support. Foggy appreciates it because (a) breakfast (b) with company and also (c) she usually brings coffee brewed by someone who cared about making it taste good. It’s nice.

She also shows up one day and tells Matt, “Open your hand.” He does with a puzzled expression on his face. She takes it and puts something in it. “This is yours now. It’s a cell phone.” Matt’s face does some complex things. “I asked the person in the store which phone had the best accessibility features, and she recommended this one. The case is supposed to be waterproof and shock proof.” She presses the phone into Matt’s shock-still hands and picks up a bag on her desk. “Here’s the charger, some earbuds, and some backup earbuds because I’m always losing mine.” She takes a deep breath. “My number, Foggy’s number, and Marci’s numbers are already programmed in. If you need help, you call us, okay?” 

“Karen…” Matt says. He stops there, apparently out of words. Foggy knows the feeling. He’s gonna make Karen let him pay her at least half of what she spent on the phone and its accessories. “I can’t—”

“Take it, please,” she says. 

“But—”

“ _Take. It._ ” Ah, there’s the terrifying and impossible-to-refuse Karen who Foggy knows and loves. Matt takes it. “If you disappear without notice again, Foggy’s going to get an ulcer, and I’ll have to kill you. This way, you have one fewer excuse.” 

“Thanks,” Matt says quietly, holding the phone to his chest.

 

Matt spends his free time that week playing with his phone. Foggy comes to be quite used to seeing him sitting with the thing, apparently familiarizing himself with how it works. A few times, he walks into a dim room to see Matt playing with it, illuminated only by the light of the screen. The screen’s cold does strange things to the planes of Matt’s face, making him look like a creature distant and unknowable. And then Foggy usually hits the lights and says something stupid, and Matt looks up at him and smiles and tucks the phone away. 

 

On the fifth day, Matt disappears. Foggy wakes up that morning to a text message from a new number: “It’s Matt. I have to go now. Look for me in a week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think technically to be a slumber party you need more than 2 people attending, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	23. downtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's disgusting," Matt texts.

Matt changes the names of the contacts(!) in his phone(?!), obviously. And he adds Claire’s number. She’s quietly judgmental about how Matt suddenly owns(!) a phone(??), and audibly judgmental about his insistence that she keep it in her apartment. Whatever. Daredevil can’t be running around the city with a phone with contacts in it, even if the names are coded. 

It takes less than a week for Daredevil to do his sweep of some warehouses that are supposedly connected to Fisk. He goes out at night and crashes as Claire’s apartment during the day. This is a rhythm his body remembers, and he falls back into it with a feeling of… not relief, certainly. Daredevil’s work is necessary but never pleasant, never enjoyable. But it does feel good to be back in his element, doing something he knows he’s skilled at. 

He texts Karen once a day, letting her know he’s alive. He texts Foggy every day, too, but generally more than once. 

Foggy texts him far more than once a day. He sends stories about people he sees walking around New York, Karen’s exploits at the Hall of Records, and dogs he meets walking home in the evening. Then for a whole day—nothing. Matt doesn’t panic. He plays it cool. He texts Karen, who tells him she sent Foggy home because he was sick.

“I have a cold,” Foggy texts the day after. “At least, I assume it’s a cold. It might be a different, yet cold-like, illness.”

“Is it bad?” Matt texts back. He’s laying face-down on Claire’s couch because his back is a mass of bruises and stitches. If anyone ran their hands over his skin, he would feel like Frankenstein’s monster, all damage and repair. Not that anyone does, of course. Except Claire, and she doesn’t run her hands over his skin so much as, well, repair it with her finely-honed skill. Not that Matt thinks about people putting their hands on his skin. He gets most of his physical contact as Daredevil, and it’s not especially pleasant. 

Anyway. 

“It’s the worst, buddy. I’m a volcano of disease. It’s awful.” 

Matt smiles. “A volcano?”

“Spewing virus with each explosive set of coughs and each insuppressible sneeze.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Matt texts him. 

“I haven’t even started describing the coughs yet.” 

“Well go on.”

“Coughs, like bills, never come singly. They always bring company.”

“Surprisingly poetic,” Matt says. 

“My coughs are sticky, yet wet.” 

“And you’re back to disgusting.” 

“It’s like the phlegm in there is a living colony determined not to be turned out of its newfound, beloved, cavernous home.”

“Still disgusting.”

“Want to hear about the inside of my mouth?” Foggy texts. Matt blinks. He blinks again. 

“I can’t imagine what you’re about to say,” he eventually sends. 

“You know how when you’re sick, your mouth tastes different?” Foggy sends. Matt makes a face. “Right, so my whole mouth tastes like illness. Even water tastes faintly of illness. It’s awful.”

“Sounds awful,” Matt agrees. The inside of Foggy’s mouth tastes like illness. Gross.

“I mean, normally my mouth tastes like coffee or mint, so I mean. It’s a real step down,” Foggy continues. Normally the inside of Foggy’s mouth tastes like coffee or mint. Alright then.

“How much cough syrup have you had?” Matt manages to text. 

“So much, Matt. So much.” Well that explains more than it doesn’t. There’s a pause, and then Foggy texts again. “How are you? Are you coming back soon?” Matt blinks. Bites his lip. Foggy hasn’t asked before.

“Soon,” he writes. “A few days at most.” Possibly less than that, especially if Foggy keeps asking him to come back. He could convalesce just as well in Foggy’s apartment as Claire’s. Except that Foggy isn’t a nurse, and Claire is. Hm. 

“Good! We miss you,” Foggy texts. “Cough medicine is kicking in. Nap time now.”

“Sweet dreams,” Matt texts. Matt is a moron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somebody in the comments requested a sick-fic. This... probably isn't what they wanted. I'm... sorry? >_<

**Author's Note:**

> I slowly write and add to this work, so if you're into hearing about that I recommend subscribing.


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